Surveying the Opponent
by jenny starseed
Summary: Irene needs to know her opponent before she begins her game.  A missing scene.


Title: Surveying the Opponent  
>Author: Jenny Starseed<br>Rating: PG-13  
>Character(s): Irene, Sherlock<br>Summary: Irene needs to know her opponent before she begins her game. A missing scene.  
>Warnings: None<p>

Spoilers: A Scandal in Belgravia  
>Word Count: 1503<br>Author's Notes: This was my first time writing Irene Adler from ASiB. I wrote it a couple of days after seeing the episode. I'm reluctant to label it Sherlock/Irene since it's a one sided UST from Irene's POV. Spoilers for Scandal in Belgravia.

None of these characters are mine. Any recognizable dialogue from ASiB belongs to Steven Mofatt. Unbeta-ed and Unbrit-picked.

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><p>She was an adapt climber since she was a child. It allowed her to do all the naughty things she wanted as child. Before she was the woman, dominatrix and keeper of state secrets, she was a first and foremost a trouble maker. And troublemakers always needed a battalion of escape skills. Climbing trees was one of them. So it was no surprised that she climbed her way into Sherlock's bedroom with some rope and some sturdy hooks to return his coat, which was safely tucked into a large carry-on bag that was slung over her shoulder.<p>

She found him in his bed, his body flopping a bit on the bed like a fish out of water. She had one of her contacts specially formulate the sedative for special people like Sherlock. The man was just conscious enough to hear her, but still incapacitated in a half dream state. It was a reformulation of a date-rape drug that was quite popular in her circles, suited for her own purposes if she was in the mood to pull any lucrative secrets from an important client.

She looked around his bedroom, wondering vaguely if she could deduce anything about Sherlock from observing it. It was very sparse, but the furniture was expensive but functional. Everything about the room was functional. The man lived an almost monk like existence. She ran her fingers on the bed frame while staring curiously at the framed periodic table. He had a strong inclination towards science. It wouldn't surprise Irene if he had a background in science.

If only he wasn't hired to steal her camera phone, she could have imagined a very productive working relationship with Sherlock. One did need experts of all kind at her disposal with the work she does. She couldn't blackmail him into doing it. The man was utterly uninterested in sex. No dilation of the pupils, no increased breath and no erection. No, even if he was interested, it would be beneath her to even try. It would be in an insult to both of them to lure each other with something as obvious as sex.

She unzipped her bag and pulled out the expensive coat. She knew it was expensive, made of high equality sturdy wool. She wondered what she could deduce from the man from his clothes and bedroom. If she could play his game as well as he could. How does a mind like Sherlock's work? She put the coat to her nose to smell it. It had a hint of human sweat, so he wore it frequently and likely did a lot running in it. He was an active man, quick reflexes and likely quite athletic judging from his strong but slender build. There was a small magnifying glass in his pocket and a pair of leather black gloves. The tips were slightly worn at the edges, but the leather was sturdy. A completely practical man who likes refinery as far as it allows him to move easily and is practical to his needs. She spotted the blue dressing gown. She ran her fingers through it, enjoying the soft feel of the silk blend. She wondered what it would feel like to be naked in that gown. She certainly liked the feel of his coat against her skin. His very private possessions against her bare skin, it would be as if she owned a bit of him. It would be delicious.

She hung his coat on the lonely coat rack and moved to his closet. She recognized the brand-names of the suits, shirts and trousers. They were mid-high end, well tailored, and like his coat, practical but refined. The man had very simple taste, but very good taste. At one time, a lot of thought was put into to this wardrobe to give him an air of authority and refinery. It also signalled to Irene that Sherlock was an egotistical vain man; she had slept with enough men with this wardrobe to know that.

She was out to collect information here, she had to know her opponent if she wanted to win this game. She searched his room for any pornography and found none. His underwear and sock drawer was like his wardrobe: functional. Boring. There was little she could gleam from his room that didn't already confirm what she suspected about the man. But it didn't tell her what she wanted to know. How did his mind work?

She approached the bed and pulled the cover to his chin. His eyes were glassy, the focus gone from those sharp eyes. But she could tell the man's mind was still active, zipping through a thousand thoughts as he dreamed restlessly. He was a beautiful man, he reminded her of her first girlfriend. Porcelain skin, dark curls, boyish figure and absolutely full of unpredictable trouble, like icy fire under her fingertips. She loved dominating her because she struggled so beautifully. How she did like her lovers completely at her mercy. But dominating Sherlock through drugs seemed like cheating. And she was no physical match for him. So, intellect and wit it was. If she wanted to know how Sherlock's mind worked, she had to think like him. She had to have a trail run by solving one of his cases. It was time to begin the second part of her investigation.

Before she met him, she hacked into his e-mail, found the details of the case of the case he was working. She then hacked into the police database and managed to spy on his Skype session with John earlier that day. She sat naked in her room for two hours, doing her best to solve the case before he arrived to meet her. The case was completely baffling and she wondered if he himself had solved it yet. It had been fascinating to talk to him. There was a strict and clean precision to his mind that she had never come across before, and she had met many clever men in her time. He gave her hints to the solution that were baffling at first but easy enough to figure out with a bit of time. Now, it was time to test her solution.

She knelt beside Sherlock and gently kissed his cheek, revelling in this small bit of violation. As far she knew no one kisses Sherlock Holmes without his permission. Delicious.

"The man who died, I have the solution. I got it. " she explained carefully. At the sound of her voice, he seemed to have realized that she was in his room. She watched him struggle to get up and she gently put her hand on his shoulder to keep him from doing so.

"Oh, shush now. Don't get up. I'll do the talking," she said gently, stroking his hair as she did so.

She described the scenery, giving imagery to Sherlock's dreams. There loud noise, the unsuspecting hiker and the boomerang that killed him which was washed down the stream.

"Yes, he was killed by a thrown boomerang," said Sherlock. His voice was breathy and strangled. His pupils were dilated and his muscles were taut. She looked for signs of physical arousal, but there were none. But Sherlock Holmes was exhibiting all the signs of arousal, his pupils and his breath were an indication of that. Interesting. This will be the most interesting kind of sex she will have. No bodies will be touched or undressed, no sweet words or kisses will be exchanged. It has been a long time since she had to use this sort of seduction, a seduction that was purely of the mind. How very exciting, a real challenge. She didn't realize she was bored until she met Sherlock Holmes.

She had to keep him from being bored, dominate him through the engagement of his mind. She will have to weave her most complex and tricky puzzle to keep him at her mercy. Moriarty said as much, she should have listened to him more. This wasn't as difficult she thought it would be. The man was egoistical enough to fall into her trap. He didn't seem the sort who would resist an unknown entity that was as bright and beautiful as she was. He would go through great lengths to break something down, deconstruct it, and build it back up again in order to understand what he did not know. It was a dangerous game. Irene would normally never make herself the target of any man, but Sherlock Holmes was not just any man.

She stood to lose a lot in her game, but she was a gambler at heart. The man wanted her life, her protection and life's work at her expense. It would make sense that she needed to sacrifice a bit of herself to win. She would sacrifice it all for a chance of victory. She collected her bag and gave a soft kiss to Sherlock's temple before soundlessly leaving through the window. The game has started. May the best player win.


End file.
